Violet Disasters
by quirrells
Summary: "She's yours." Sherlock discovers many things about himself and other people around him, much of which he probably already knew deep down. AU Sholly/Johnlock
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock had always known that Molly had liked him. It couldn't have been much more obvious; the clammy palms, the dithering and the way she spoke around him. It had all added up within days of the two meeting. He knew, like he knew everything, how she felt. What he didn't know was how far she'd go to win him over. That was one of those things no normal human being could predict, not even an extraordinary one such as Sherlock Holmes. He'd always trusted her, whole-heartedly. She mattered to him in many ways, but this had smashed that trusted into the floor like one of his mother's old ornaments.

"A donor." It wasn't a question, but she nodded regardless, arms pulling into her chest as if to protect the small bundle from harm. His face remained the blank page of emotion it had been since he'd arrived, but the cogs of his mind whirred against one another. She'd done this all by herself. She'd taken his specimen from the sperm bank. She had friends who worked there, helping her out. Harriet, if he remembered correctly. She'd taken that specimen and impregnated herself. And now, here she was.

"And it's mine." Again, she nodded. It infuriated him, made him want to scream at her. Her eyes hadn't left her arms since he'd said that word. That horrible, wretched word. He gulped, blinking at the swathed bundle in her arms. It couldn't have been much bigger than a bag of sugar or a loaf of bread, and all he could see was the white of the blanket.

For the first time, Sherlock took the time to look around Molly's living room. It was painted white, the walls clinically bright, and the furniture was cream leather. Not real, he could tell straight away. She'd never allow that, she had ethics after all. There was a lingering smell of bleach and polish, as if all she'd done for the past week was sterilise her home.

"Have you thought of any names?" he asked, peering around the room. She nodded again, and he raised an eyebrow, urging her on. "I like Violet." He frowned. Violet. It was a colour, not a name. "I suppose…" She smiled brightly. "Violet it is then." He rolled his eyes as she spoke.

"Violet."

He could see it now. A little girl with his hair and her eyes dressed in vile purple clothing. She'd be "Vile Violet". He could hear the taunting voices of the perfect little girls while Violet wore the pinafores her mother dressed her in. He wouldn't allow that to happen. He'd been bullied enough as a child to know what that did to a person.

"Fine. But she'll be Holmes, not Hooper." He knew she'd been thinking "Hooper-Holmes". It was so obvious in the way her eyes had dulled when he'd said it. It made him smile a little, very weakly, and he showed himself out of her flat.

And that was the day that Sherlock Holmes became a father.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN**: I'll probably be updating this quickly. So expect more soon! Enjoy xoxo

There was a small noise like a squealing pig resonating from the corner of the room. There were few times when Sherlock Holmes was scared, but this was most definitely one of those times. He stepped forward slowly, nearing the Moses basket rocking to and fro in the corner.

He frowned as it made noises which he found hard to decipher. Adults were so much easier. Even toddlers could bark out the basic command words like "food" and "toilet" when they needed to. This little human in its white sleep-suit with its fire alarm mouth wanted _something_ but he would never know what without trying something.

His pale hands reached out for the baby, scooping it up and rocking it awkwardly in his arms. He held it three or four inches from his chest as its mouth opened wider, crimson red and deafeningly loud. He squinted at the child, holding it at arms' length.

"Food," he spoke, replacing her in the Moses basket and rummaging through the neatly presented bag Molly had left him with when she'd dumped Violet on him. He placed the bottle in the machine Molly had left and plugged in in the kitchen and waited a few seconds, the child still screaming bloody murder in the other room.

"It's okay, Sherlock's here," he mumbled, lifting the child from the basket and feeding it. The screaming stopped and as it did, the door opened.

"She still here?" Sherlock rolled his eyes at John, who was laughing slightly at the sight before him.

"Of course she's still here, Molly's not just gone shopping, John," Sherlock sighed out of frustration. "She's gone to _Australia_, you know that." John laughed again, flicking on the kettle and pottering around the kitchen absent-mindedly. The baby clamoured at Sherlock's face, waving its hands idly up at him.

"She's going to be just like you," John laughed again.

"What do you mean? She won't be a _male_, John," he frowned down at her.

"No, I mean… she looks like you. And she's already up for finding things out at three months old. Look, she's trying to find your nose," John seemed to be rather amused by this, taking the girl from father and smiling down at her. Sherlock looked at the pair for a second or two, before "No, give her here," and he'd snatched her from John's arms in a heartbeat, replacing her carefully in his own arms.

"She'll have to go to school properly. I can't afford childcare or private school. Mother's not going to pay for her education, there's no way she'd allow that." Sherlock stared down at the baby in his arms, mapping out a future for her already.

She'd marry someone with brains and, ideally, money, and have children. She'd live in a neat semi-detached house in the outer suburbs of a London with the person she'd married. He didn't much care who she married as long as they were respectable and hygienic.

Hygiene was _everything _in a prospective partner, after all.


End file.
